


After Death

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Gift, M/M, post s08e03, spoilers for s08e03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 20:17:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18667633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Dying hurts more than he has anticipated. He watches the monster walk past, unstoppable, hardly sparing him a glance.I’m so sorry, Bran,Theon thinks as his vision dims. It wasn’t enough.And then darkness.





	After Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lagardère (laurore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurore/gifts).



> So, just before S08E03 happened, lagardère and I made a pact - should the worst happen we'll write a thing for each other. Mine for her was Theon being reunited with Robb. 
> 
> Thank you, for being there for me that day. It is wonderful to have a friend like you. ❤️❤️❤️

Dying hurts more than he has anticipated. He watches the monster walk past, unstoppable, hardly sparing him a glance.

 _I’m so sorry, Bran,_ Theon thinks as his vision dims. _It wasn’t enough._

And then darkness.

_***_

“Open your eyes.”

The voice is familiar, a northern accent. Cautiously, Theon does as he’s told and blinks in surprise when the face of Ser Jorah Mormont swims into view. He looks different from the last time he’s seen him, before the battle. Not so exhausted.

“What…” Theon sits up and looks around the unfamiliar room, at the large fire roaring, casting shadows upon familiar faces. “Where are we?”

“Dead,” says little Lyanna Mormont, arms crossed defiantly. “We’re dead.”

“I’m sorry…” Theon starts, not really knowing what he’s apologizing for.

“We’re waiting,” says another man. Theon has to look twice before he recognizes Beric Dondarrion.

“Your eye–” he starts, then pauses, looking down at his own hands, at his fingers. Whole.

“The Lord of Light gave it back.” Beric smiles the slightly insane smile of a believer. “We are in his realm now.”

“We died in the North.” Lady Mormont clambers to her feet. “We should be in the Old Gods’ realm.”

“Ah, fuck’s sake. We’re dead. Doesn’t matter which old shit is responsible for this.” Theon turns his head to look at the last Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, grimly hovering by the fire. “Fucking knew it. Damn Samwell Tarly.” Edd sighs. “At least he’s not here, so I guess he made it by some fucking miracle.”

A sudden rush of something has Theon’s head spin, he does a quick head count. It’s only them, Ser Jorah, Beric, Edd, Lady Mormont and him. Can this be true? Is Bran still alive? Sansa? Jon? Daenerys?

“We’re the only ones?” he asks.

“You missed the fucking horde,” Edd grumbles. “And a shitload of Unsullied.”

“Some have already been claimed.” Beric smiles. “The Red Priestess wasn’t here for long.”

“Claimed,” Theon echoes dumbly. “Claimed?”

“Apparently we’re waiting for someone to come and guide us.” Ser Jorah sighs. “I have no knowledge of how this works.”

“The Lord of Light will see to us,” Beric says calmly.

Lady Mormont snorts.

***

They have no way of telling the time, wherever they are, but it feels like days before someone comes. A knock on the door, two boys stumble in and a lot of cheering and hollering ensues as Edd is practically buried in their rough embraces. He doesn’t look back when he leaves with them.

Behind him comes an old man dressed in black clothes, and Theon sees Ser Jorah fall to his knees while Lady Mormont runs ahead to meet him. They leave together, the three of them, the man’s hand firmly on Ser Jorah’s arm. He looks more at peace than Theon has ever seen him.

It’s only him and Beric now, and Theon is glad when the knock comes after what feels like another very long wait. Beric is a good man, but his unwavering faith is disconcerting.

“Thoros,” Beric greets the man who comes to claim him. “You took your time.”

“The Lord is generous,” Thoros answers with a grin. “I got drunk and lost my way.”

Beric laughs and shakes his head, preparing to leave. At the door he looks back at Theon.

“I hope you don’t have to wait long anymore,” he says. “May the Lord watch over you.”

The door falls shut and Theon is alone.

***

He waits. There are no windows in this room, it is impossible to tell if it’s day or night. The door isn’t opening when he tries. Theon feels strange. On one hand he’s happy he hasn’t died in vain, that Bran isn’t here. But then maybe he’s worse than dead. Do people come here when they are resurrected by the Night King? Would the Night King even resurrect Bran?

Theon sighs. He’s got too much time to think. He paces the length of the room, marvelling at his sure gait, now that his feet are whole again. He picks up random items, cups, bottles, only to enjoy how his ten fingers look holding them. He spends an inordinate amount of time staring at his prick.

But mostly he wonders who will come for him. His father, maybe. But he didn’t want him in life - would he want him in death? For an absolutely ridiculous moment he hopes it’ll be his warden, but after all that’s happened… He shouldn’t hope for this. The last possibility is too horrifying to dwell on, and the most likely. And it would be very much like Ramsay to make him wait.

When the knock finally comes Theon is nearly fainting with dread. It isn’t even much of a knock, more like someone bumping repeatedly against the door. But whoever they are they don’t come in. Finally Theon has had enough. Ramsay or not, he needs to know. With two quick strides he’s at the door, and this time it opens and Theon flinches back as he finds himself face to face with a giant wolf.

***

They walk endless corridors, Grey Wind leading the way. Theon has recognized him immediately, his heart beating like a war drum. This can only mean - the one thing he hasn’t dared to hope for. They come to the end, another door, and the wolf turns his large head, huffing softly.

Theon opens the door with trembling hands.

And there he is, sitting by the fire, not facing Theon but the flames.

“Stark,” Theon says, and Robb looks up.

His mien is impossible to read, eyes shadowed, mouth a tight line. He rises to his feet slowly, so tall, taller than Theon. Has he always been? It’s hard to remember.

“So,” Theon offers after a very long silence. “You couldn’t be bothered to get me yourself? You just send your wolf?”

Robb takes a step closer, another, until he’s an arm’s length away.

“I didn’t know how I’d react when I see you,” he finally says.

“And now you do?”

Theon tries hard to swallow the lump in his throat. Robb is here. Robb is here, and whole, and safe, watching him with a thoughtful expression in his blue eyes.

“Aye,” he answers. “Now I know.”

And he summarily punches Theon in the face.

Pain explodes in his jaw as Theon’s head snaps back, and for a moment he’s caught between the ridiculous urge to cower at the ground and the overwhelming desire to reciprocate in kind - instead he laughs. It smarts, his lip is split and blood trickles down his chin, but it’s nothing, and Theon laughs.

“I missed you too,” he says, and then he runs out of fucks to give and leaps forward, crushing right into Robb’s chest.

***

It’s a long while later that he remembers.

“I know there aren’t any words,” Theon starts. “There’s nothing I can say to earn your forgiveness. I know there can be no absolution for what I did. But just know that I am… that I’m…”

“You are forgiven.” Robb turns onto his side, eyes earnest and kind. “Took me a long time, to tell the truth. But it’s hard to hold a grudge against someone who paid as much for his sins as you have.”

His hand strokes over Theon’s arm, unmarred by the scars that used to be there.

“Just like that?”

It sounds too easy, too good to be true.

“Just like that.” Robb smiles, the boyish smile Theon remembers so well. “I know your heart. I know everything. It’s a part of this whole being dead.” He scoffs. “Besides, I did meet your father. Seven hells, what a cunt. Sorry.”

“I thought it would be different.” Theon tilts his head to look at Robb. “This whole death thing. I thought… Jon said there’s nothing. And he should know.”

“Aye, _Jon_.” Robb chuckles. “There’s someone here who could tell you a lot about what it is that Jon knows.”

Theon grins weakly. He's still confused.

“So what do we do now? Here? Where are we? What happens?”

“Who knows? We have eternity to figure it out. To me it feels a lot like life used to. There’s not much difference. Less boundaries. More knowledge. More freedom.” Robb sighs. “Maybe death is just another kind of life. It doesn’t matter.”

He tugs at Theon’s arm until he follows, his warm lips soothing and agitating at once.

Maybe all of this is just a dream. It feels like it, hazy and unreal, but Robb feels real enough, and so what if it is? At least, Theon thinks as he closes his eyes, it’s a good dream.

**Author's Note:**

> He's not alone anymore.


End file.
